


Memories of hurt

by LightningNymph



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Character Study, Gen, Time Travel, Timey-Wimey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-04
Updated: 2019-03-04
Packaged: 2019-11-09 07:30:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17997542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LightningNymph/pseuds/LightningNymph
Summary: Barricaded in a room with her previous incarnation, stuck in a seafloor base on the planet Kharaa with hostile aliens patrolling the corridors, Thirteen watched him and wondered, 'Did Rose see the same things I do, now?'





	Memories of hurt

**Author's Note:**

  * For [celynBrum (Celyn_Brum)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Celyn_Brum/gifts).



> Inspired by a conversation with Celyn_Brum on how "Between Thirteen and Nine there's probably an observation in how circumstances and nature inform the way a person develops". I'm like four months late but hey, I managed, and in time for my about-once-every-year fanfic posting.

Thirteen remembered _hurt_ most of all, in hindsight.

 _Hurt_ from the war itself, _hurt_ from watching people die in front of him, _hurt_ from that final, horrible decision, and _hurt_ from being the only one left standing when the dust settled.  
All the time, a constant companion from the moment he woke up to the moment he went to bed, lasting for _decades_. Unable to shake free from _any_ of it because it was too much, too fresh.

Barricaded in a room with her previous incarnation, stuck in a seafloor base on the planet Kharaa with hostile aliens patrolling the corridors, Thirteen watched him and wondered, ‘ _Did Rose see the same things I do, now? The military precision, the caring for people as an abstract but too hurt to appreciate them in practice until they got close, and the running, running,_ always running _, maybe even hoping that if I ran far enough, long enough, I could leave the pain behind?_ ’

“Right then,” her Ninth life finally addressed her, Northern drawl creeping into his voice. “We’re in the middle of the ocean, no plans, no backup, just us and a hungry cinerophant standing between us and freedom. What do we have?”

She remembered that line of thought, too. The military general creeping in again. Assessing the situation, taking stock of resources, planning a way to strike first lest you be caught off-guard.  
It sent chills down her spine, seeing it from the other side. That seeing the world that way, keeping with it even after it had outlived its usefulness, could make _such total sense_ in the moment, brought forth by constant threat. Worse that he had no idea how to put it back down, born in the War as Nine was.

“We managed to distract it,” she said, looking back the way they came. “We’d better come up with something quick –”

“It’s a saltwater animal,” Nine realized, eyes flitting to the research station’s water-filters. “If we flood the hallways with fresh water –”

“—it would die,” Thirteen finished, voice hollow.

Reaching into his jacket, Nine pulled out his sonic screwdriver and aimed it—

“ _No_ ,” Thirteen snapped, pulling his arm down and away. “It would _die_.”

“It’s killing crewmembers –”

“It’s _frightened_ ,” she said. “The drilling disrupted its natural habitat and Robinson took its eggs, of _course_ it’s angry. We can try to communicate with it –”

“If we don’t do anything soon –”

 “We can solve this _without_ bloodshed,” Thirteen insisted, looking at him. “Trust me.”

An impasse, Nine staring at her. She remembers thinking if it could really be true, if they could really solve things that easy, it had to be _too_ easy to work…

“Right,” he said, after what felt like an eternity. “What way to the drill’s controls? We’re shutting this mining operation down.”

Thirteen relaxed. Timelines where you met yourself being the fickle things they were, there was always the possibility that…

“Follow me,” she said, flinging the door open and running down the corridors, the feeling familiar like well-worn boots.


End file.
